


tenderness is the only weapon left

by raritysdiamonds



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raritysdiamonds/pseuds/raritysdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-New York, all Natasha wants to do is lie low. But when worlds are colliding around you - in every possible sense - a little flexibility is required.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tenderness is the only weapon left

**Author's Note:**

> AU after the Avengers movie. Title is from Baiya by Delphic. Feel like I should mention that the Steve/Tony in this is pretty background (it kind of crept in while I was writing?), but there's more in later chapters, if that should affect you at all. Aaand this is my first fic for this fandom and on AO3, yay! Enjoy, hopefully c:

The memo had simply been:  _just be careful._

Careful, delicate, sensitive, discreet, any number of similar euphemisms; they were always SHIELD's favourite words. Natasha doesn't consciously have to change anything:  _careful_  is her MO anyway. She stays on guard, watches her back, covers her tracks just like they're always told, but Natasha's never needed telling.

She could easily have slipped into HQ unnoticed, usually preferred to, but things are different now. Natasha doesn't greet or acknowledge anyone, but she feels the junior agents' eyes on her as she passes, appreciating the occasional nods of respect, awe, sometimes a hint of fear. She doesn't mind that; fear is healthy. It motivates.

With SHIELD, you had to be fast, efficient, ruthless; get the job done by any means necessary. The ends - that ancient ideal - justify the means. Assume any identity, any methods, and maybe most importantly: stay professional, detached, impersonal. You can't afford any emotional baggage; the minute it gets personal, as everyone tended to learn pretty quickly, is when it blows up in your face.

Of course, that had all been before things did blow up, literally, and very nearly all over New York City.

It's been a few months, and they're operating as normal - well, as "normal" as it ever gets - but there's still loose ends and fallout to be handled. The official statement's been made, but the press aren't satisfied; people want to know about the Avengers. Sure, they saved the world, but at what cost? Who  _are_  these people? Where did they come from, what are they going to do next, are we really going to trust our lives to a bunch of freaks in spandex?  _Why won't they come forward?_

The answer to the latter question being that any kind of public exposure is _exactly_ what SHIELD doesn't need; they all know that anonymity is their lifeblood. A faceless bureaucrat in a suit, a charmingly unremarkable temp filling a position serves their purposes so much more effectively than well, a freak in spandex (no offence, Cap). The more you answer, the more it looks like you have to answer  _for_ and - well, Natasha's more aware than most that they're operating in the "morally grey" area, at best. So naturally everyone's on their guard - even more than usual - and under strict instructions to watch themselves, keep a low profile, don't talk to any members of the press (or "anyone who seemed suspicious", which as far as Natasha could gather, was everyone).

Which is fine, for them, but for Natasha - and for Clint, and there's rumoured blurry footage of a guy who  _could_  be Fury - it's different. Their faces -  _her_ face - are all over the press, on the internet, everywhere they can be pored over and publicly dissected. Blasting aliens in the middle of New York wasn't really the best way to keep a low profile.

Natasha tries not to think about what that could really mean - she's fighting next to a giant green rage monster, a recently defrosted super soldier, a genius-billionaire-whatever in a flying robot suit and an actual Norse god, nobody, she tells herself, is looking at  _her._ And this isn't about her, it's damage control. If they're going to stay undercover, they need to reconvene, figure out the future of the team -  _if_ there's a future for the team - and how it's all going to work, on what terms. Work out some sort of arrangement, at least temporarily.

That's the idea, anyway. Ideas tended to have little in common with the actual outcome.

Natasha remembers, though it seems like another life now, when she'd first heard about the Initiative. It was a risky strategy from conception, but Fury pushed it even though Natasha could have - and did - told him it was a ridiculous idea. Remarkable people tended to bring their remarkable egos, remarkable personal issues and remarkable risks to the table, and she didn't see how that was going to help them.

(Then they sent her to monitor Tony Stark, which had to be some kind of twisted payback.)

But when it came down to it, it didn't matter. Not that the Initiative had been shut down, not that Natasha was never supposed to be  _this_  involved - from the minute she got the call, heard Phil's voice grit out "Barton's been compromised", she knew it was going to get personal. Complicated, frantic, totally unpredictable, very messy and  _very_  public, in the end, but somehow they pulled it off.

The press, before they became suspicious, showered them with praise, proclaimed them heroes, declared that America had nothing to fear as long as the Avengers were around. The name stuck; they became a brand, an idea people seemed all too eager to buy into.

As of now, that's all it is, an idea: Natasha hasn't seen any of her teammates since. She heard about them, occasionally, but she was busy making sure she got sent on on missions in the furthest-flung corners of the globe. Being in the spotlight, however briefly, was...weird, and unsettling, in a way that she really wasn't used to. She just needed time, she told herself, to get back to doing what she knew. There were threats - so many  _more_ threats than they ever thought possible, than she'd ever been trained for - out there, but SHIELD dealt with them.  _Natasha_  dealt with them just fine. Let the dust settle, and one day, the world would make sense again.

Natasha's still waiting for that day.

The  _team,_ she thinks, it still sounds wrong. They'd parted on good terms, sure, worked surprisingly well together under pressure. But Natasha, Clint, Stark, Banner, Rogers, Thor - they've all got separate lives, different motivations, in some cases different planets, or realms, or whatever kind of place bred genocidal maniacs with serious inferiority complexes. Natasha's not used to really being part of a team - on occasion, maybe, there was her and Clint and Phil ( _don't think about that)_  - but that was different.

Everything's different, and they need to address that, or so says Fury - the world may still need the Avengers. They don't have any long-term strategy yet, but this meeting, this would be the first step towards something new. Something that could be...good, even, that could be more than the sum of their parts. Give something back. Protect people from what they now knew was out there.

Natasha has her doubts. But she also has instructions, and she can't deny she's curious. Working with a team - with  _this_  team - it's new, and she has no idea how it might work out, all of them, long-term. But Natasha works with what she's given, and they could try. She had to try.

Apparently, she thinks irritably, trying doesn't include any of her prospective teammates actually showing up on time. Clint claims to be allergic to official meetings, or official anythings, but he'd usually drop out of the rafters (only sometimes metaphorically) at the last minute. The only time she'd ever known Stark to turn up to anything on time is when she'd physically threatened him. Banner had disappeared again pretty much immediately after New York, and she hadn't heard anything since; Natasha supposes that indicates he hasn't been captured or killed, but it doesn't necessarily improve the odds of him showing up either. They're keeping tabs on Cap, somehow, from his apartment, so he can't be far. That only left...

"Miss Widow!"

Natasha glances up, and there's Thor; striding purposefully towards her, six foot something of full armour, hammer in hand, cape streaming majestically in his wake and the antithesis of anything approaching careful or discreet. There's another agent she doesn't recognise scurrying to keep up alongside him, a small guy with glasses who looks comically tiny by comparison.

"Agent Romanoff," he greets her breathlessly, and Natasha nods. "You and Mr., uh..." He looks helplessly up at Thor, as if he can't quite believe he's there, let alone how to address The Actual Norse God of Thunder, as the press occasionally liked to refer to him.

"Odinson," Thor informs him.

"Mr. Odinson, right...You two know each other?"

"We do, yes," Natasha can feel Thor's eyes studying her, and he smiles when she looks at him, but she detects a hint of uncertainty.  _Does_  he remember her? It's been a while, and in the circumstances they hadn't exactly had much time to talk.

The agent looks between them, then examines the contents of his clipboard.

"Director Fury is expecting...more of you?"

Natasha nods again, waving her hand to dismiss him. "He is, and they'll be here. We're good for now."

"I'll inform someone of your arrival," he says, before walking off briskly, seemingly relieved.

Natasha doesn't think anyone within a 15-mile radius could have  _missed_  Thor's arrival; subtle and discreet, as far as she can tell, don't feature prominently in the Asgardian dictionary. Still, when she looks back at him, his smile widens into something more genuine.

"Miss Romanoff," he greets her, extending an enormous, armour-clad arm. "A pleasure to be in your company once again."

Natasha returns the smile, accepts the hand and shakes it once, briefly.

"The pleasure is mine, Thor. It's to see you again."

He remembers her, of course, Natasha realises belatedly - and that explains the uncertainty in his smile. Seeing her, probably just being here had to remind him of everything that had happened, the total madness of the last time they'd seen each other. Sure, it hadn't exactly been fun for any of them, but it wasn't hard to figure out putting your own  _brother_ away for attempted genocide would leave some kind of mark.

Natasha can't help wondering about that, actually, about why Thor's come back here so willingly. They anticipated resistance from all parties, but out of all of them, on the face of it, he has the least to gain from continuing the team. Thor doesn't answer to anyone on this planet; SHIELD has nothing on him. He's royalty of a realm as far from theirs as it was possible to be, she thinks, her mind automatically racing, calculating, but  _here_  he's an illegal alien, in every sense. He'd be regarded with suspicion and fear, or else as some kind of exotic animal to be gawped at - maybe Thor didn't realise that right now, but he still didn't have an obvious motive...

Thor clears his throat, and Natasha blinks out of her reverie. Focus, she reminds herself sharply,  _careful_. This is business; whatever Thor's motives, he'd be an invaluable ally. Fury trusted her to secure the deal, by any means necessary.

Thor, still looking uncertain, reaches out and takes Natasha's hand again. Before she can figure out what he's doing, a prickle of beard against her fingers makes her body react automatically; she jerks back, wrenching her arm free and slamming her other fist upwards, catching Thor on the chin.

Sense comes back to her just as he doubles over, grunting in pain, and -  _oh, shit._

A couple of agents look over at them in alarm; Natasha automatically waves a hand at them in what she hopes is the signal for "training exercise". Not that punching out demigods is actually in the handbook, unless it's been recently updated, but Thor is looking up at her with a bewildered, slightly hurt expression, and his nose is starting to bleed and all Natasha's doing is staring back, wide-eyed, an unfamiliar sense of guilt tinged with panic creeping through her.

"Sorry, I - god," she rushes out, and that already sounds wrong - Natasha doesn't apologise, at least sincerely, as a rule except in  _very_ exceptional circumstances. "I really didn't mean to - wasn't expecting - that is, um, that isn't..."

This, she has to admit, probably isn't the best start to proceedings.

Thor shakes his head, rubbing a blood-smeared hand across his nose. "The fault is mine, Miss -  _Agent_  Romanoff. I wondered if perhaps..." He trails off, shrugging sheepishly and taking a careful step back, well out of her space. "I realise I have misjudged the appropriate Midgardian greetings. I meant no..."

Natasha nods, folding her arms and trying to regain some composure. "Culture shock," she says. "It's only natural, but - we do things differently around here. It's better that you learn sooner. I mean, not that I  _intended_ on teaching you quite so, um...forcefully."

She offers a tiny smile as some form of compensation, and thankfully Thor returns it, silence - save for the muted voices and activity in the background - hanging between them while he rubs his face and Natasha considers how she probably could've predicted today would involved somebody getting punched. Only maybe not this early. And her money would've been on Stark.

So much for delicate and sensitive, but hopefully she can still prevent another interplanetary conflict. Natasha takes a deep breath, puts on her best professional we're-all-friends-here smile, and ventures, "You know, it's funny...How you've come from a different  _planet_  and you're still the only one who's here on time."

That doesn't say great things about their chances of success, but it does seem to relax Thor a little, and he nods, smiling with something like pride.

"As of my word." He pauses, and then frowns. "But I have not travelled from Asgard today."

Natasha blinks. "You haven't?"

"No. I've been in the realm - state, I believe you call it? Of New Mexico, for some time now."

Natasha raises an eyebrow. "Huh. Okay."

That's interesting - so how long exactly had he been here? SHIELD had to have known, because they'd need to keep him undercover and something told Natasha that wasn't Thor's usual MO. But nobody had told her about it, and why New Mexico, of all...

"There's...a girl, isn't there?" - she remembers now, because Selvig knew Thor, and she was on their database, the astrophysicist, though Natasha couldn't remember her name.

Thor's whole face softens, like he's remembering a wonderful dream.

"Jane," he says, noticeably softer, as though her name is something precious he's afraid of breaking. "She has taught me a great many things, about this realm, and about...life. Love. She is wise, and kind, and beautiful, and I wonder that..."

As quickly as it appears, the light in Thor's eyes seems to die, and his expression clouds over with...Worry? Regret?

"That events...may have happened differently, had it not been for my meeting her," he finishes, quietly.

Thor holds Natasha's gaze in a manner that may have been perceived as challenging, but she knows instinctively it's not. It's just how he is; eyes solemn and intense, and full of questions there's no way she can answer.

"Maybe," she replies eventually. "and maybe not. A lot of things could have been different. We'll never know for sure, but we can't change..."

Natasha doesn't know Jane, has never met her, can't begin to guess how much she matters in terms of everything that's happened. She clearly matters to Thor, the way he's hanging onto Natasha's words, eyes pleading for some kind of reassurance. But Natasha's just not in a place to give it, honestly;  _she's_ still trying to make sense of New York, to pick up the pieces of her own shattered beliefs.

Natasha doesn't like things she can't figure out, but she doesn't say that.

"...the past," she finishes instead, because that's true enough. "But - with what we're doing now - we can try to change the future, at least. Make a difference."

Thor nods determinedly, like he believes it. Maybe he does.

"So, Jane," Natasha steers the conversation back on track, reminding herself again what they're here for. "You want to protect her, right? That's why you're here."

_That_  would make sense, at least - it gives him a good incentive to go along with SHIELD, to care about their world, but Thor shakes his head.

"No," Natasha raises her eyebrows questioningly, and he clarifies, "That is - yes, Jane is very dear to me, and of course I would keep her from harm. But I know, also, that she is not the only thing in your world of value."

She waits, and he continues.

"Your realm is...beautiful. In ways very different from my own, but you are a wonderful, strong people. And just because I am of Asgard, the son of Odin, does not mean I should think myself above you. My time here has taught me that, but, in my position, I should endeavour to protect it in any way I can. After -" he breaks eye contact for a moment, looking down at the floor, but then holds his head high, face hard and determined and eyes firmly locked on Natasha.

"...After everything. I should make it my mission to fight for something other than my own foolish glory."

As a prospective job interview, Natasha thinks to herself, it's pretty impressive. And a little overwhelming, being the recipient of Thor's tendency to talk like he's delivering a speech to an imaginary army. But Natasha is not easily intimidated, and she just stares right back. Tilts her head as she considers him, and the unavoidable question -  _are you for real?_

And, incredibly, there is nothing in Thor's stance and expression that suggests to her he isn't. Natasha catches a minuscule bite of his lip, betraying his total confidence for just a second, and decides - okay, let's go with benefit of the doubt here.

"Well," she responds eventually, "on behalf of, um, our realm...thank you? And on behalf of SHIELD, I can say we'd be very happy to work with you."

Thor's face lights up, his battle-ready expression giving way to a wide grin, and it's like sunshine pouring in. It's infectious, and it catches Natasha just a little off-guard, considering how such unbridled optimism from anyone else would have - _should_ have made her instantly suspicious. Anyone else she could name would themselves have been cautious - and rightly so - about liaising with SHIELD in the first place.

But Thor  _isn't_ anyone else. Alien, technically, yes, but he's not like anyone Natasha's ever met and - for some reason - she's finding it a lot tougher than usual to second-guess him. Especially when he smiles at her like that (maybe it's some kind of godly power, actually, she'll have to look into that).

"And I would be honoured - again - to fight alongside such distinguished warriors as the Avengers," he says, dipping his head. "Certainly, I should know now not to underestimate  _you_ in being a most formidable opponent, Natasha Romanoff."

Natasha doesn't think Thor's ever called her by her full name before; he pronounces it like a title, like  _he's_  honoured to be addressing her. Respect tinged with the hint of wariness she supposed was reasonable, considering there are still traces of blood on his face.

She likes how it sounds, she decides, and she lets the corner of her lips quirk upwards.

"Good to know," she replies, "since  _that_  is definitely something you should learn sooner, rather than later."

Thor chuckles, deep and low in his throat, and Natasha is just thinking  _hm, this one's shaping up to be interesting,_ when she hears a gratingly familiar voice approaching.

"...let them talk you into anything. Just because they defrosted you, or whatever, doesn't mean you owe them anything. Stranger danger, say it with me, Cap..."

" _Tony_  -"

Natasha turns, and takes in the sight of Tony, Steve and - huh, that's an unexpected bonus - Bruce, led once again by the agent she hopes is getting some sort of pay rise for this.

"Agent Romanoff, Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers and Dr. Banner are here," he informs her, unnecessarily.

"I see that," Natasha says dryly, giving them all a cursory once-over; Tony smirks at her, Steve smiles hopefully and Bruce looks uncomfortable, but nods.

"Well done, kid: you caught 'em all," Tony adds, as the agent turns to leave. He smiles uncertainly, but his eyes shine for a second in a manner that could be perceived as - god help them - starstruck.

Natasha rolls her eyes as he hurries on; Bruce shakes his head, but could be biting back a smile, and Steve frowns in the universal expression for "I don't get it".

Thor can't, either, but he comes to life, exclaiming "My friends!" and gently - well, she  _thinks_ he means to be gentle, but since it's Thor the effect is still not unlike being bulldozed - pushing past Natasha to greet them.

"It has been a time; I am pleased to find you all in good health," he beams, shaking each of their hands vigorously in turn.

As they return the sentiment in various ways, Natasha acknowledges them with an inclination of her head.

"Likewise. Especially as some of you have been off of our radar for so long, we were growing a little..."

"Concerned?" Steve asks.

"Suspicious?" Tony raises his eyebrows.

"Not necessarily, just  _curious,"_ she smiles, but it feels paper-thin. She's careful not to direct the remark at anyone in particular, but Bruce smiles back at her, equally unconvincingly.

"Some of us, Agent Romanoff, thought that it would be in everyone's best interests to stay as...off-radar as possible. I didn't really see many advantages to sticking around, after last time," he says.

Natasha supposes that's reasonable, and she nods sympathetically. "Of course, Dr. Banner. And we -  _I_ really appreciate your taking the effort to be here."

It's true, at least - she's still wondering how, if nobody  _really_ knew where Bruce was, he could have gotten the message, and something definitely doesn't add up there. But she'd have time to figure that out later; it's good enough for now that he  _is_  here. Pick your battles, she thinks, and is rewarded with a barely perceptible quirk of his lips.

"For the record," Tony interjects, "some of us are more interested in how long it takes for that vein on Fury's head to pop."

Natasha smiles pityingly. "Believe me, Stark, better people than you have tried and failed to make that happen."

"I like a challenge," he shrugs, while her eyes flick over to Steve. He holds himself as straight as ever, that familiar soldier's stance, and the little forehead wrinkle that's been pretty much a fixture whenever she's seen him outside of a combat situation is still there.

"Anything to add to that, Captain?" she enquires sweetly as Steve catches her eye, and his face smooths out into an ever-dutiful smile.

"Just happy to help out in whatever way I can, ma'am - uh, Agent -"

"Natasha," she interrupts him gently, because they'll be here all day. "I think we're on first-name terms by now, don't you?"

"Sure," Bruce says, deadpan. "We're on the way to becoming one big, happy team."

Predictably, Thor fails to notice any sarcasm in that remark as he nods, smiling serenely. "Indeed. After the trial we faced together, I would regard you all as my brothers in arms. We stand together so that we might protect this earth, and so it shall be."

He really has  _no_ idea how this world - or at least, their corner of it - works, Natasha thinks as she takes in the various dubious expressions on her would-be teammates' faces. Still, if he sticks around he'll have to learn pretty quickly, and until then maybe a little optimism would be useful. It's sort of cute, even, in a way.

"...Yeah," she says eventually, when no one else responds. "Anyway. Gentlemen, now that we're all here -"

"What about Hawkface?"

Natasha  _does not_  laugh just because she's picturing Clint's face if he were around to hear that remark; she bites down on her lip and tells Tony "He'll be here. Later - for  _now_ if you'd all follow me, Director Fury should be ready for you now."

Natasha indicates the way with a twist of her head, and leads them all off towards certain doom - well, Fury's office, but depending what mood he's in, there's not a whole lot of difference.

"Did you have to make that sound  _quite_ so much like we're going to get our wisdom teeth yanked out?"

"No, I'm pretty sure this is worse."

"What dentist do  _you_ go to, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't. He comes to me: it takes work, you know, staying this beautiful."

Natasha  _thinks_  she hears Steve mutter "Rich kids," and safe in the knowledge now that none of them are looking at her, she smiles to herself.

Interesting. Yeah.

* * *

Natasha doesn't really think of her apartment as  _home;_ she spends most of her time on missions out of town, or out of country, and when she's not it's usually more convenient to stay at SHIELD. She's never had a chance to do anything with it, really, make it  _hers._

Tonight, though, she's grateful for it, because she just needs to be somewhere other than SHIELD. Needs the mundanity of it after spending the last three hours (more? She lost count) listening to superheroes bickering and trying to keep the peace and her own sanity.

Beige carpet, beige walls, no constant whirr of technology; it's not pretty, but here, she could almost feel  _normal_.

Well, maybe if Clint wasn't lying on her sofa noisily eating a bag of potato chips.

"What."

Natasha really wishes she could be surprised by this. Clint just waves at her, flashing a cheesy grin.

"Honey, you're home!" When she stares at him, he adds, "I have a key. Remember?"

Natasha knew she'd live to regret that, but she just sighs, resigning herself as Clint swings his legs around so she can collapse on the sofa next to him.

"Are you even supposed to leave HQ?"

"Maybe...not," he replies evasively. "But I'm a free man, Nat. They don't  _own_  me."

"Hmm," she murmurs noncommittally. Clint's been on psychological review for a while; he's still not cleared for any kind of field duty, which Natasha knows frustrates the hell out of him.

("It doesn't make sense, Nat," he'd said once. "They want me to  _talk_  about it, but how can I? I don't remember what happened: I was mind-controlled, I did some bad shit, now I just want to forget about it, but they won't let me. We've  _all_ done bad shit, how's this different?"

"I know," she'd told him. "Believe me, I  _know._ But you have to give a little; just tell them what they want to hear. Then they'll let you out again, and we can get back to..."

Clint had sighed, scrubbed a hand through his hair roughly, and Natasha reached out and took hold of it.

"Normal.")

It hadn't felt like the right word then, and it didn't now.

"Give me some of those," she says instead, reaching for the bag of chips. They crunch in companionable silence for a moment.

"So," Clint cracks his knuckles, rolls his head back like he's working out a lot of tension. "That was...something."

"Definitely something," Natasha agrees, resisting the urge to point out that Clint hadn't seen the  _half_  of it. He'd eventually turned up, maybe halfway through, to a death glare from Fury and Bruce saying that -  _with all due respect_  - he wasn't sure that this was the right organisation for him to be working with.

Not that it really mattered for Clint at the moment, since Hill had shuffled through her reports and declared that, until he was cleared for field duty, Agent Barton would not be officially classified as a member of the Initiative. He would, however, take part in team training exercises to learn how to work with the Avengers and to prepare for any future occurrences in which his skills would be needed.

Clint hadn't argued, or let his expression slip for a second when she said it, but as much as Natasha knew it was coming, she felt for him.

"Do you really think this can work?" he asks now.

They needed a response team for future threats, Fury said. You are the best, the strongest, the most capable people we have at our disposal. You  _all_  have the power, here, to protect people; to do that most effectively, you learn how to respond. As a team.

Tony doubted, somehow, that their intentions were really that pure and noble. Bruce wanted to know how SHIELD proposed to turn such a potentially volatile combination of individuals - no offence, guys - into a reliable response team. Steve asked if they believed the threat level to be high at present, and from _where_?

Fury replied that essentially, all he was asking them to do was play nice with each other and respond when you are needed. Agents Barton and Romanoff will report back, and continue to work for SHIELD, and they'd take care of the rest. And, since you ask, Captain, it is mainly the fact that two of his best agents' faces are splashed all over the world's press that puts them in a  _severely_ compromised and vulnerable position as of now.

Tony said so,  _essentially,_ Fury just wanted a pack of really cool guard dogs who wouldn't ask awkward questions like what exactly they were defending. Bruce saw where this was going, and he wasn't prepared to be their guinea pig and risk who knows how many lives. Steve thought that given what he knew about SHIELD's activities so far, he'd need some time to think about aligning himself with them.

Natasha did her best to be the voice of reason when things got heated, while fighting a growing sense of despair. Clint said nothing at all, his face carefully blank. Thor eyed them all warily, as though observing an alien species - which he was, in a way - and when prompted simply said that yes, he considered the earth under his, if not Asgardian, protection.

Natasha licks the crumbs from her lips and says, "I don't know."

"I don't think Stark trusts Fury - trusts  _us._ Banner doesn't, either. Or Cap."

"No," she muses, "and Fury doesn't trust them. Or you, or me. And  _we_  can't totally trust Fury either. Or Stark, or..."

"I get it," Clint interrupts, grinning, "it's not a big buzzword. We're running a shady operation where anyone could stab you in the back at any moment."

"Pretty much," Natasha agrees, and he looks sideways at her, sharing a wry smile. "But...you learn. Who to trust. And they'll learn too, I guess."

Clint nods, rooting around for the last of the chips, but coming up with only crumbs; he flicks them at Natasha, and she dodges effortlessly.

He pouts. "Aw, Nat, you're no fun."

"Maybe if you weren't so predictable, Barton," she retorts, and he balls up the chip packet and throws it at her.

Natasha defends herself with a cushion and bats it back, laughing when it hits Clint square on the nose and he grimaces.

"Goddamnit, Romanoff," he grumbles, but he throws it towards the trash can this time, and it's a clean shot, of course. Natasha smirks in quiet victory, letting her head fall back against the sofa.

They're quiet for a minute and then Clint says, "I get the feeling things are gonna be different around here."

"Mmhm," Natasha murmurs vaguely into the cushions. For better or for worse - or worse before it gets better? She wants to leave all that stuff behind, just for a while; she's tired of peacekeeping and negotiating and she wants to  _sleep_.

"You going to be okay?"

Natasha opens her eyes to blink up at him, and she's almost insulted by that - is _she_  going to be okay? Who's the one on review here? - but not really, because it's Clint, and she knows what he means, what change means for him.  _Are_ we _going to be okay_?

"I'll deal," she answers, and they exchange familiar smiles before she stands up, stretching and rolling out the tension in her muscles - turns out sitting stiffly in a chair while superheroes bicker does that to you.

"Okay, I'm going to bed. There's blankets in the cupboard, I think," she tells Clint. "Night."

He sticks his head up from the sofa. "Can't I -"

" _No_."

"Worth a shot," Clint calls after her, as she shuts the door.

* * *

It's another month later and there are aliens in New York.

Actually, alien, singular, when Natasha gets the call, but by the time she's on the scene there's at least six of them, and they're already multiplying at an alarming rate. She's not an alien expert - yet - but these things definitely aren't in the same league as the Chitauri; they're more like enormous, translucent slugs. People are screaming and running, though they barely seem to notice and are more interested in eating traffic cones.

But they are, officially, a threat. And, officially, the purpose of the Avengers is to respond to threats of a certain priority. And, officially, Tony, Bruce, Steve and Thor have no legal attachments or obligations to SHIELD, but that doesn't matter: if the city needs them, they'll be there. Natasha's sure of that.

What  _is_  surprising is how...natural it feels, fighting together. They've had plenty of team training days (the only condition Fury could, eventually, get all of them to agree on), but that doesn't mean anything; Natasha's trained with a lot of people, and in the field - when there's something to fight  _for_  - it's totally different.

But once they're together, all five of them, it feels...well, like a  _team._  Steve's in full Captain mode, strategising and commanding them with an effortless authority - containing the slugs is priority, keep them away from civilians, then dispose of them however necessary. Tony actually  _listens_ to him, which is rare enough in training, but he's fast and agile in the suit, pinpointing where to strike. Thor's approach is more "whirl hammer, smack anything that moves", but there's no denying he's good at it, and between him and the Hulk - who isn't great at following orders just yet, but does at least seem to be able to distinguish teammates from enemies - it's turning into a very messy game of whack-a-slug.

Natasha's holding the fort; not too much collateral damage, a few crushed cars, a lot of slime, but no casualties yet. One of the things gets nasty when she corners it, roaring and spewing some kind of acidic substance; she shoots as she dodges, but the bullets go straight through it. Figures.

"Black Widow, do you need backup?" Steve asks over the comm.

Natasha's damned if she's going to let something that looks like what happened the time Clint's soup went wrong beat her; a couple of well-placed kicks later, there's a puddle of... _something_ at her feet and they're done.

"No, I got it," she answers breathlessly.

When they reconvene, everyone's similarly splattered with the stuff, but there's a tangible feeling of triumph, as Thor claps them all on the back and Steve smiles, happier than she's seen him in a while.

"Great job, team," he declares, rubbing something out of his eye. "That was - we got them all?"

"All eliminated as far as I can tell," Natasha says.

"View from the top's all clear," Tony confirms.

Bruce - he'd shown up eventually, in pants that looked too big and a t-shirt clearly a size too small. Natasha isn't going to ask how or where he acquired them - glances around, taking in their slime-covered surroundings.

"I'd ask what happened here," he says, "But I'm not too sure I want to know."

"You missed a hell of a party," Tony tells him, faceplate coming down. Bruce gives him a sceptical look, and he adds, "But don't worry - the other guy had our backs. Looked like he was having fun, actually."

Bruce smiles faintly, says "I'm glad someone is," but, Natasha can't help noticing, he's looking a little pale.

"Anyway, I don't know about you guys, but all that amateur fumigation's made me hungry," Tony continues. "Anyone for shawarma?"

Natasha's too busy trying to pick an enormous glob of she-doesn't-want-to-know-what out of her hair to tell him that wasn't even cute or funny the first time, but Thor is already nodding enthusiastically.

"Of course, it is only right we should feast after our glorious victory!" he beams. "And this shawarma - it is your Midgardian tradition, is it not?"

Oh, lord.

Tony runs with it, of course, pointing at him and nodding. "Yes, Thor, yes it is. Only the  _really_ traditional way is to eat it standing on your head while whistling the national anthem."

Thor tilts his head like he's considering this, and Natasha manages not to let her lips twitch as she shoots Tony her "really, but  _really_?" look. Steve looks like he's caught between admonishing him and trying not to laugh.

Then Bruce keels over, and before anyone can react Thor lunges to his side, hooking an arm under his and hauling him upright. Natasha automatically does the same on Bruce's other side, frowning as Thor bends to peer anxiously into his face.

"My comrade - Bruce - are you hurt?"

Bruce waves him away, and he's at least conscious, if a slightly alarming shade of grey. "No, no, it's okay. I just get a little...dizzy sometimes. Afterwards."

Tony and Steve's expressions have both turned serious, and Steve takes a decisive step forward.

"Alright, we need to get you to..."

But his next words are drowned out as - coming seemingly out of  _nowhere_  - a crowd of paparazzi descends on them, all shouting and clicking their cameras.

"Mr. Stark! Can we just get a quote regarding..."

"Captain! Hey, Cap! Would you say that the country is currently in a state of..."

"Thor, speaking as an extradimensional being, are you able to tell us if the creatures we saw today are..."

Natasha blinks as the flashes bombard her, and although keeping Bruce upright is foremost in her mind, the thought that  _these people are photographing her_ makes her feel a little sick.  _Her,_ without the protection of any disguise or alias, and that's going to have repercussions, who knows what anyone could potentially uncover...

She has to reluctantly admit they're lucky that Tony's had a lifetime's practice at situations like this. He steps forward, so the suit effectively blocks Natasha and Bruce from view, and announces, "Folks, the Avengers are not able to comment at this time, but let me assure you, the city is safe, and so are your vegetable patches. Now, if you'd excuse us..."

He turns back to Natasha, voice low and urgent. "Get him to the Tower. Take a cab, tell them to bill me, whatever. We'll provide a distraction."

Natasha nods, and Bruce straightens up, but he's still unsteady on his feet . Tony looks at Steve.

"Cap?"

"Yeah?"

"You want a ride?" Despite their best efforts, the crowd's still there, still flashing away, and - okay, Natasha gets it.

Steve looks more than a little doubtful, but his expression turns considering as he looks over at the crowd, then Tony, then back to the crowd and...

"Sure," he decides eventually, as though acknowledging the potential for disaster, but resigned to the fact it's their best option. "Let's do it."

Tony grins as his faceplate slides back into place, and offers an armoured hand with a flourish. Steve rolls his eyes, but grabs it and lets Tony pull him in, to the obvious interest of the crowd.

"Gotta split, folks - you may want to stand back a little," Tony informs the press. Natasha, Bruce and Thor shuffle back, as Steve places his hands uncertainly on the suit's shoulders.

"You're  _sure_ this is safe?"

The Iron Man suit doesn't allow for expression, but Natasha is positive Tony's either smirking or pulling that faux-innocent face as he replies, "Captain, I should be insulted by your lack of faith."

Any response Steve might've had is cut off by an undignified yelp, as Tony scoops him up - bridal-style - and they shoot into the sky, leaving a flurry of exclamations and frantic camera-clicking in their wake.

A surprised laugh escapes Natasha, almost involuntarily - she's got to hand it to Stark, guy knows how to make an exit - but she spots a window of opportunity, and while the press are sufficiently distracted she tugs on Bruce's arm.

"C'mon - let's go this way."

Thor follows suit, and the three of them run for it down a side street. Their respective height differences turn it into more of an awkward shuffle, still linked together, and Bruce is weakly protesting that he's not dying, he  _can_  walk, guys, until finally a cab pulls up.

They pile in, Thor's head scraping the ceiling and Bruce sagging against Natasha's side as she tells the driver "Stark Tower, please. And fast?"

"Sure thing," he says, and his eyebrows shoot up when he catches sight of them while adjusting his mirror. "Hey, aren't you folks..."

"We have no time to spare for your questions!" Thor thunders - it's the only word for it - making Bruce wince, and the driver practically jump out of his seat.

"Ahhh - yes, sorry, of course, your - uh - Lordship?" he stutters, and puts his foot on it.

They seem to get there pretty quickly after that.

* * *

"I got to admit, you have a nice place here," Steve says.

He's standing by the window, looking out on the view from Tony's penthouse, the very top of the tower. Natasha's perched on the sofa next to Thor, and Bruce, as he's prone to, had disappeared as soon as they'd arrived, mumbling something about sleeping it off. He seemed to know his way around pretty well, so she left him to it.

"Thanks," Tony's behind the bar, busy mixing drinks Natasha hadn't had the strength to decline. "Though I seem to remember you calling it ugly before - not that I hold grudges or anything..."

Steve smiles, slightly reluctantly, glancing back at them. "It's growing on me," he admits. "From the inside, anyway."

"We did have to make a couple modifications, since you were last here," Tony says, coming over to place two tumblers - he hadn't actually asked Natasha what she wanted, come to think of it - on the coffee table before handing one to Steve and taking a sip of his own. "After Lo-"

He breaks off, and everyone freezes: the proverbial elephant in the room, but up til now, they've all avoided actually  _saying_  it. Too soon, too real, too sensitive a subject for Clint, and - well, no one even knew how Thor would react, and they didn't want to take chances.

But, as Natasha and Steve exchange wide-eyed  _oh shit_  looks, and Tony coughs and suddenly becomes very interested in the carpet, there's no visible change in his expression as he turns around to face them.

"Please," Thor says, carefully, "do not feel afraid to speak my brother's name on my account. I was here with you, I'm aware that...What he did was unforgivable. We can but only condemn it, and I do not expect any less, but I need no more to be...sheltered, from what happened, than the rest of you."

His voice is unsteady, but he smiles, and it looks out of place, almost painful. "I am simply happy, Tony, that you were able to rebuild this vessel. Truly a fine example of Midgardian architecture."

He turns away, takes a long drink, and as Natasha glances sideways at him she catches herself thinking,  _but lives aren't so easy to rebuild._

The thought sits uneasily, so she takes a sip of her own drink in the silence, raising her eyebrows as she recognises the sharp taste.

"Black Russian? Seriously?"

Tony smirks, evidently relieved for the change in subject. "Oh, c'mon - that was funny, right?  _I_  thought it was funny. Cause, you know, you're..."

Natasha just looks at him.

"No? Okay, fine, just...Oh, JARVIS, how is Bruce doing, by the way?"

"Dr. Banner's vitals are quite stable, sir. I estimate he should be fully refreshed within the next hour," the smooth British voice replies.

"That's great," Tony says, as Thor and Steve glance around the room in confusion, almost simultaneously. "Oh yeah, right - Cap, Thor, JARVIS. He's my AI. Artificial intelligence. A really smart computer?" he offers, presumably just in case they don't get it.

Steve nods, looking semi-impressed, and Thor looks slightly wary.

"A pleasure, Captain Rogers, Mr. Odinson. Sir talks about you often."

"Likewise, uh, sir?" Steve addresses the ceiling.

"JARVIS pretty much runs everything around here," Tony explains. "Takes care of the place, the suits...me. Sometimes."

"A full-time occupation, if I may say so, sir," JARVIS says, and Steve grins approvingly, a rare glimpse of his "the future is awesome" face. Thor nods thoughtfully, his eyes darting around for a second like there might be demons hiding in the walls, but then he seems to relax.

That's when something occurs to Natasha; something she's wondered about for a while now, but the right moment to bring it up hasn't presented itself yet.

"Wait," she says, and all eyes turn to her. "Is Bruce  _living_ here?"

Just for a second, Tony looks genuinely caught out, and something close to panic flashes across his face. Then he raises both hands in mock-surrender, irrerevent as usual.

"Fine, you got me," he says. "Maybe he's easily susceptible to sexy science. Erotic explosions, if you prefer. Or  _maybe_ we just thought he deserved to have somewhere where he wouldn't be a lab experiment, a guinea pig. Poked and prodded into one of your...monster cages."

His expression's turned accusing, as if anything Bruce has had to go through is somehow her fault, as if Natasha would have been complicit in  _any_ of that if she was in a position to be - she wouldn't, and she's certainly not about to let  _Tony Stark,_ of all people, guilt-trip her. But she doesn't like his obvious distrust, either.

Steve and Thor are quiet, looking between them like they're watching a particularly tense tennis match.

"This a problem? Are you gonna tell Principal Fury on me?"

Bruce living here explains so  _much,_ and it's convenient, and Natasha thinks that "Principal Fury" would be  _very_  interested in this news. She also thinks that, in retrospect, there's no way he would have stuck around, let alone agreed to any further involvement with the Avengers, if Tony hadn't offered. So, actually, from SHIELD's perspective, Stark's done them a  _favour._

But telling Tony that would be no fun, so Natasha just smiles, slowly, the way she knows freaks him out.

"I could," she says, sweetly. "But I could also - maybe - be  _persuaded_ not to."

Tony raises his eyebrows, clearly unsure whether she's serious. Natasha really does prefer it that way.

"You've been in my tower for, what - thirty minutes - and only just  _now_ you're blackmailing me? Getting sloppy, Romanoff," But there's a glint of amusement in his eyes, now, and her mouth twitches. "Name your price."

Natasha spies an opportunity.

"No more shawarma," she tells him firmly. "It tastes like ass."

"Seconded," Steve breaks in, and Natasha flashes him a conspiratorial half-smile as he joins them on the sofa. Tony grins, visibly relieved, and the tension palpably relaxes.

"Done. But you're the one depriving Thor of his chance to experience  _our tradition,_ by standing on his head and..."

"I suspect you mock me," Thor interrupts, but he's grinning good-naturedly. "And I expect only the finest foods your realm has to offer as recompense."

"That you shall have," Tony promises him. "Right after Bruce is done with his power nap. And then..." He glances out of the window, then back to them, with just a hint of uncertainty. "Getting late. Uh - superhero slumber party, anyone? Could be fun - we can eat, put in a movie, talk about boys, braid Thor's hair..."

His tone's as light and casual as ever, but he's talking just a little too fast, and hasn't stopped pacing the floor the whole time - Tony's nervous, maybe even scared of rejection, inviting them like this. Natasha can't help it; she's long since been programmed to pick up on the slightest signs of weakness. And then to move in for the kill.

She doesn't have nearly as much experience with  _helping,_ but Steve gets there first.

"I'm in," he says easily, and then, when the others look at him, quickly adds, "I mean, I think it's probably better that we're all together, for now. Security, in case there's another attack tonight and we have to assemble quickly. Plus," he smiles, "I could go for some food, too."

Tony stops pacing abruptly, and he blinks at Steve incredulously like that was the last thing he was expecting.

"You - really?" Then he breaks into a smile, surprisingly warm and genuine. "I mean - yeah. Exactly what I was thinking, security. We owe it to our public, right? Or something like that."

Thor nods, satisfied, and settles back, stretching his arms out along the back of the sofa. Natasha shrugs, accepts that resistance is futile, and sips her Black Russian. It's...really good, actually. The best she's had in a long time.

"Tell Fury I'm helping out with extra training," Tony informs Natasha, as he slides into the space on the couch between her and Steve like he belongs there. "Team bonding-slash-pop cultural education kind of thing. For the benefit of the Asgardians and the old folks."

He pats Steve on the arm, and he makes a noise that's sort of half-groan, half-laugh (it's maybe an 80/20 split), but doesn't push Tony away.

"But  _no one_ shall touch my hair," Thor declares, and he's still smiling, but sounds serious enough that Natasha's pretty sure not even Tony's going to push it.

"Of course not, buddy. That's fifth-date stuff."

And that, somehow, becomes their first movie night.

* * *

The funny thing is, it doesn't actually feel like that big of a change. Sure, she spends a lot more of her time fighting aliens and egomaniacal idiots with too much time and money on their hands (and that's just her  _own_  team...That's a joke. Mostly), but, well. Natasha adapts quickly. She's always had to.

She's still with SHIELD, but missions seem fewer, and she knows that's because they're wary of her being too recognizable now. Natasha's become a risk, rather than a dependable asset, and the first time she has that thought it just freezes her. She has to stop in her tracks, grab onto the nearest available surface, and all she can feel is  _it's out there, you're exposed, vulnerable, someone's going to find you, you'll pay for everything..._  - a swirling mass of dread in her stomach, and for a second she thinks it's going to rise up and spill out of her mouth in a more physical form.

Then she lets go, swallows hard, and walks briskly back to training.

It's a useful distraction, since after that first time - technically second, but first post-New York - she can't exactly explain it, but it feels like something clicks with the team. They're improving all the time, refining their technique, learning how to play to everyone's strengths and cover for weaknesses: if the threats are out there, the Avengers are damn well prepared for them. But it's not just that they're better in combat; there's a different atmosphere, a sense that everyone actually wants this thing - this  _team -_ to work. Because the world needs them? Because they all have something to fight for, something to prove individually? Whatever it is, it's an outlet, for Natasha's energy, because what she needs is to keep moving, to stay focused. And she's...well. She doesn't know where she'd be right now without it.

They even have a - well, it couldn't be described as a  _routine,_ because no one can ever predict what, when and where the next time they're needed is going to be. And they've all got their own things going on: Natasha has missions, Pepper drags Tony metaphorically (or literally, quite possibly) kicking and screaming to business meetings, Thor disappears sporadically, either, she guesses, to stay with his girlfriend or back to Asgard, Steve and Bruce tend to have less hectic schedules, but they fill the days too. It's not like they're together 24/7.

But they still get into a thing where, more often than not, they stay at Stark Tower after a fight, and it's...fine. It helps, Natasha thinks at first, that the tower's big enough for every member of the team to have a floor to themselves. She likes that, sometimes - the surroundings aren't exactly shabby, and it's somewhere that isn't SHIELD or the drabness of her apartment - but when they're together, eating or in the penthouse or Tony's extravagant entertainment centre, the company's surprisingly acceptable, too. They stick to the weekly movie nights, sometimes Clint comes over, and the first couple of times Steve and Thor actually go along with the pretext it's somehow educational for them. Then they just bicker about the movie choices, someone starts throwing popcorn, someone falls asleep on the couch and it just feels...easy. Comfortable, for once. Maybe even something she could get used to.

It can't be like that all the time; they fight too, inevitably. Steve yells at Tony for disobeying orders or putting himself at risk. Tony yells at Steve for not trusting him to know what he's doing and to "maybe consider removing that stick up your ass". Bruce rarely gets involved, for obvious reasons, but if she's sufficiently irritated Natasha will tell them both they're being ridiculous, and then everyone yells at her to stay out of it and  _then_ Thor yells at all of them for their "petty concerns", which as far as he's concerned don't matter as long as no one was harmed.

(Since he yells loud enough to literally make the walls shake, that usually shuts everyone up.)

The worst times, though, are when something does go wrong, when someone doesn't get there in time or misfires or makes the wrong call and innocents suffer for it. Those times, they rarely try to pick it apart or debate who's responsible or say anything at all; they just leave, stony-faced and grim, to deal with it in their separate ways. No matter what she does, Natasha's left with this horrible, aching _guilt_  - all the things she should have or could have done - and it weighs her down and doesn't even really make sense, because she's done  _far_  worse in her time and barely given it a thought.

Maybe this is what it's like to actually have a conscience.

And maybe that's what's keeping her awake now, tossing and turning in a bed that's not technically  _hers,_ but she's slept in this room for a few weeks and some of her weapons are in here, and tonight it somehow doesn't feel right. It's too... _soft,_ the duvet too warm and heavy, it feels stifling. Natasha eventually flings it off, collapsing back onto her pillow with a frustrated sigh.

"Ms. Romanoff, may I be of assistance?"

It's JARVIS, voice low and gentle, and Natasha sighs; she's not crazy about the idea of Tony's AI watching her, so to speak,  _all_  the time, but that's how it is around here, and sometimes it has its uses. Anyway, she's not going to be reduced to arguing with a computer.

"No, I, um, can I..." Her throat is dry; it comes out croaky. She needs a drink. "Coffee?"

"The nearest machine is in the recreation room. Three floors down."

"Thanks," she mumbles, and leaves, making her way down the corridor, into the elevator, down three floors into the rec room and seizing upon the first coffee machine she comes across like it is simultaneously her fiercest opponent and one true love.

Natasha's a few blissful sips in, sinking into the sofa, when there's a sudden whirring noise - kind of like a helicopter, but it's not quite right - outside, followed by a thud.

She frowns, automatically tensing, but there's no reaction from JARVIS or security, so it's probably just Tony testing out some new tech, or something. They don't keep regular hours in this team.

A moment later, though, the elevator pings, and Natasha turns her head as she hears footsteps approaching. Through the dim light, she can make out a glint of armour, then a familiar flash of red cape.

"Thor?"

He strides in, and it must trigger something because the lights all switch on simultaneously, and it's bright, too bright. Thor freezes like he's been caught, and Natasha blinks dazedly up at him.

"Natasha," He looks surprised, and just a little guilty. "My apologies, if I startled you. I did not expect to find anyone awake at this hour."

"You didn't. I couldn't sleep." Natasha runs a hand through her bed-tousled hair, suddenly very aware that she's barefoot and bra-less. Thor's fully armoured up like always, but despite that, he seems...smaller, somehow. His shoulders slump, his cape drags in a way that looks miserable rather than majestic, and he looks exhausted.

"Are you looking for...a bed?" she asks tentatively, wondering if she should ask, but it's pretty late and Thor's probably not in the mood for interrogation, judging by appearances. It's easy enough to get mixed up which floor's which, so he could be lost, but Thor shakes his head.

"No. I just...I need a drink."

That, Natasha understands; she raises her cup in solidarity, and he finally smiles.

"You know what they say about great minds," she offers, as he follows her on the way for a second cup.

"No."

"They think alike."

Thor's attention is focused on the coffee machine, and for someone who doesn't have the best track record with breaking technology, Natasha's never  _seen_ him handle something so gently. His large hands are so careful, precise, almost tender, as though he's preserving a precious artefact rather than making coffee.

It's so different from how he normally is that Natasha feels oddly caught out, when he glances up and catches her eye. The drinks are done, and he holds one out to her.

She nods a  _thanks,_ starts to ask "Do you want to..." - but Thor's already tipping his head back, and he pretty much pours the whole mug down his throat in one.

Natasha can't help wincing, though Thor seems fine, doesn't even blink. She knew he could drink the whole team under the table any day, but  _that..._

"...wow, okay," she finishes lamely. "Guess you had a rough trip?"

Thor puts his mug down decisively, and immediately pours himself another. He doesn't look at Natasha as he replies, "It might be described as such, yes."

He doesn't elaborate, so Natasha takes her coffee back to the sofa, figuring Thor will talk if he wants to. If not, she's been on enough bad trips to know there's no point in pushing it - though  _somehow,_ she resolves, at some point, she's going to find out what or who's happened to bring Thor -  _Thor -_ down like this...Team solidarity, threat watch, whatever, it feels important.

Sure enough, he joins her after a few moments, sighing as he sinks back into the sofa with relief or despair, Natasha can't tell. She sips her coffee in silence.

"My realm does not feel as it once did."

Natasha steals a sideways glance, and Thor's staring determinedly straight ahead, avoiding her eyes. He never tells them where he's going, they never ask, it's kind of unspoken but acknowledged that Asgard is Thor's business, no one else's. She suspects sometimes that they're still struggling with the fact that it exists; Bruce and Tony for scientific reasons, Steve because he's barely had time to get used to the future on  _this_ planet.

"Not the grand homecoming you were hoping for?" she asks tentatively.

Thor shrugs. "It brings me great pleasure, of course, to be with my friends - my _people_  - again. I need to know that they are well and happy, which, they assure me, they are. But I feel..." He pauses, frowning. "There is unrest. Ever since..."

"Loki," Natasha says it for him, because as much as she'd rather not go there, it's unavoidably where they're going. Thor's expression hardens and his hands tighten around the coffee cup.

"Yes."

"Have you seen him?"

The silence is ominous, and Natasha's mind starts to race with possibilities, none of them good -  _please say you didn't_ \- because how's she going to tell SHIELD about this, what if he's...

"No," Thor says solemnly. "I am assured that he is contained, of no present threat - to any realm. But I know not where he is being held, or how. Father thought it best that I should not."

Natasha lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding, and silently thanks Father. She can't claim to be familiar with the Asgardian policy on interdimensional war crimes, but she  _can_  be pretty positive it's in the best interests of everyone in every damn realm there is to keep Loki as far away from Thor as possible. But judging from his expression, Thor may not see it that way.

"But you wanted to."

It's almost a question, so Thor can deny it if he has to. Natasha's not sure what kind of answer she's expecting, but she doesn't buy the opposite for a second.

Thor doesn't deny it; he turns to look her in the eye and says, seriously, "Natasha, I know how this appears to you."

She frowns, and is about to ask  _how_ when he continues, "You naturally suspect me of being a - double agent? You think that I would return to Asgard and betray the team - perhaps conspire with Loki in some way," His voice falters just a little at the last part. "But I can only promise you that..."

"I don't," Natasha cuts him off quickly. "I don't suspect that. Never have."

Thor blinks, and - the possibility  _has_  crossed her mind, of course it has. After all, if Thor's back in Asgard, "divided loyalties" doesn't begin to cover it; Natasha would never admit it but the thought of all those decades,  _centuries_ of history she can't even begin to imagine...well, family ties are powerful. If she seriously thought there was a chance Thor could turn against them, even just be influenced - _especially_ if Loki was involved - they'd be in trouble, and she wouldn't take it.

But confronted with it - no, she realises, she really doesn't. Natasha's trained with Thor, fought alongside him, she's sat around the dinner table and taught him the finer points of grocery shopping, and he  _likes_  it here, seemingly more than anyone. He's eager to proclaim his adoration for the humble Midgardian pizza, happy to commiserate with Steve about all the stuff they don't get (Tony calls them "team culture shock"), loyal to a fault in battle, defending his teammates with the utmost seriousness even when their enemies are projections.

Besides that, Natasha knows a few things about successful espionage, and nothing about Thor suggests a master of deception; he's extremely noticeable, rarely discreet and has absolutely no poker face. Natasha's had years to perfect carefully neutral, blank expression; Thor doesn't have one, because emotion shows right through his being. It drives him.

There's no drive right now: he just looks utterly miserable. It looks wrong on him, that pensive face, the defeated posture, and maybe it's just because she's tired of being distrusted all the time herself, but Natasha wants to fix it.

She looks him in the eye, nods almost imperceptibly, and Thor - he gets it, she thinks, because he manages a small but genuine smile, and relaxes, letting his head fall back to one side.

It's quiet, and Natasha thinks Thor's asleep for a second; his head is a few inches from hers, she can feel his warmth, hear his breathing become steady. It's strangely soothing, and she contemplates doing the same, just closing her eyes for a second...

Thor murmurs, "I can't make amends for what Loki - for what happened. Would that I could, but...it casts a shadow over both our realms. In the dark, when I am alone, I cannot but be full of regret."

He says it so calmly that Natasha's not sure she's heard right; she frowns at him expectantly, but his eyes are glazed over, dreamlike. He's not asleep - maybe he wants her to think that, but he's blinking, too fast.

"Make amends?" she demands, insistent enough so he has to raise his head to look at her. "Thor,  _you're_ not the one who has to make amends. You're not responsible for New York. You  _saved_ thousands of people. You shouldn't have to..."

This conversation feels familiar, too familiar; it's the one she had night night after night, for weeks on end:  _Clint, it_ wasn't you  _who killed those agents. You were mind-controlled, we never could have predicted - whatever your body was doing,_ you  _would never, could never have done those things - it was all Loki, and you know that. Everyone does - I know it, Fury knows it, Phil knew it..._

It took a lot and even now, she doesn't know if Clint ever totally accepted that. Thor wasn't mind-controlled, he didn't kill  _anyone,_ but he's looking at her with the same expression, that blank hopeless disbelief, and Natasha recognises her frustration, the urge to shake him until he  _understands._  Clint - Thor - _nobody_ should have to live with that on their conscience.

Natasha doesn't realise she's gripping Thor's arm, metal armour cold and impenetrable against her fingers, until he blinks down at it, but she continues, "Listen to me - you  _don't_  have to answer for what Loki did. Whatever the history, it doesn't make you responsible. You didn't do those things, you - we - _stopped_ them. Remember?"

Thor remembers - he has to - and his face furrows, like he's trying to believe her, like he  _wants_  to, but the light's not there in his eyes. Natasha lets her hand slide off his arm, into the space between them as she softens her voice, but can't quell the urgency.

"You're not him, Thor."

Like she's flicked a switch, Thor stills; his expression shifts into one of quiet contemplation, and he breaks eye contact to look down at his lap.

"But he is my brother, Natasha," he replies sadly.

_He's adopted_.

Natasha doesn't say it - she doesn't share Tony's penchant for horrifically inappropriate jokes - but she can hear it in her mind, clear as anything, and suddenly they're back there. All of them stood around the helicarrier, the air thick with tension and fear, distrust and uncertainty. Two worlds facing off with everything at stake.

Thor's thinking the same, she knows it, because he adds, "Not in blood, I know. But - however much we will it to be otherwise -" he blinks, hard, "we are bound."

Something in Natasha's chest - her heart, she'd say, if she thought she still had one - aches sharply.

"We've all got pasts," she says softly. "Things we regret, want to wipe out. I guess yours is just a little more...recent."

Thor sighs, nods, but he still doesn't look convinced.

"Would that I could wipe it out," he says mournfully. "To feel the hate in my heart towards him, that you all must...That  _he_  evidently does, towards me. That sentiment should not betray the path that I have chosen..."

Natasha thinks on that for a second.

"I don't think so, actually," she murmurs. "That hate helps. It's...You hate all you want, but you've gotta know how to use it, to channel it. Otherwise, it just..." - so many times, so many people - "It burns you up inside."

If Natasha let herself, she could hate Loki, more than she hates anyone. For what he did to Clint, did to  _Phil_ , did to all of them and destroyed lives and changed everything forever. But her hate is useless now, it can't change anything, and holding onto it can only be destructive.

Thor's eyes widen, and maybe he doesn't hate Loki -  _loves_  him, still, in some hopeless unconditional way that Natasha's never going to be able to comprehend, she isn't going to touch the centuries of history there. But she doesn't have to.

"I..." He looks at her steadily, some kind of recognition dawning, maybe, Natasha thinks. "I understand."

Natasha, just for a second, lets herself remember Loki; she's pushed the memory away so many times he's like a malevolent ghost in her mind, but she remembers their one and only real encounter. How he used his words like weapons, softly spoken, dripping with malice and carefully calculated to hit where it hurt most.

She'd figured him out early on, knew just how to play it so he'd misfire. Loki thought he was unique, thought Natasha, at a glance, was weak; he'd had no idea how many times she'd seen the same. Had  _been_ the same - and that, she realises, is what makes her so positive that Thor's different.

"Good," she answers, and a ghost of a smile appears on Thor's face. "We know...the past doesn't matter now, whatever happened, whatever you feel. I - _we_ know you're on our side. That's all that matters."

Thor uses words like he means them: usually loudly, sometimes clumsily, often ridiculously, but always with total conviction. And he follows through; if Thor says he's going to eat six boxes of Pop-Tarts, then he  _will_  eat six boxes of Pop-Tarts.

If Thor says he's got your back, then he has your back, and Natasha's never been surer of the fact than now, when he smiles properly, grateful, like she's just given him the key to life, or some really great food.

"Thank you," Thor says simply. "For believing in me."

He reaches out, puts his hand over Natasha's on the sofa between them, and squeezes it gently; it feels nice, warm and solid. Natasha's not naturally a trusting person - she's never been able to afford to be - but the feeling, devoid of suspicion...it's good, and she can't help smiling back.

"If you wanted to be in Asgard," she reasons, half to herself, "or anywhere else, with anyone else, you would be. But you're here," she waves a hand to indicate the tower, the city, the whole planet, "with me. With us."

It's not really that simple, of course: there's an intricately tangled web of history and secrets and lies and personality conflicts and trust issues, between the team and everyone Natasha has ever known. She knows that, but just for now, when the first signs of daylight are breaking through outside and Thor is, finally, starting to look like himself again, maybe it's enough.

"It is my honour, Natasha," he declares, "to have your trust. Both as a teammate and a friend."

Thor removes his hand from hers, but his eyes, Natasha swears, are  _sparkling,_ and she can't help mirroring his enormous, infectious grin. It feels like tension pouring out, feels too big for her face and okay, this is just getting ridiculous.

"Then I hope you know," she informs him, straightening her face into some semblance of composure, "that if you break it, I'll break you."

Natasha's completely serious, but somehow the threat sounds less convincing when they're sitting there and she's wearing an old oversized standard-issue SHIELD t-shirt and sweatpants and Thor's... _Thor._ He takes her at face value, though, nodding seriously

"I expect nothing less," he replies, and it collapses into a lion-sized yawn. Natasha understands; she feels like she could sleep for days now. "But - for now - I think I would go to my chambers."

Natasha doesn't need any persuasion, and they both get to their feet. The lights dim in their wake as they trail back towards the elevator, side by side.

"Would we meet like this again?" he asks, oddly hesitantly. Natasha allows herself a smile at his phrasing; it sounds like they're going to different worlds, not different floors. Although...

"That depends," She presses the button; Thor looks at her curiously as they wait for the elevator.

"On?"

"On how long you plan on sticking around this time," she shrugs. Thor looks thoughtful just for a second, and then he smiles.

"I plan on staying in the realm where I am most needed, and the one it gives me pleasure to reside in."

It'd be a cryptic answer, in different hands, but luckily, Thor's got no poker face, and Natasha's not in any doubt of where he means. And oddly comforted by it, but she's not going to question that too much as the elevator doors slide open.

Thor gets in, but his face falls, and Natasha sticks her head in to observe the source of his dismay.

"This contraption..." he mumbles, face creasing in confusion as he regards the little lights on the side like they might bite him. He steps back, notices Natasha watching and offers her a slightly embarrassed - who knew  _that_ was in Thor's repertoire, either _? -_ smile _._ "It may take some more practice." _  
_

Natasha grins wryly, and takes pity on him as she steps in to help out.

"Don't worry," she assures him, as the doors slide shut. "I got your back."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated <3


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